


In a dream

by CabiriaMinerva



Category: Alice Through the Looking Glass, Alice in Wonderland (Movies - Burton)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8226697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabiriaMinerva/pseuds/CabiriaMinerva
Summary: He remembers falling asleep, and then... "How are you here? If it’s you, and if this is here, of course."





	

_«In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams,_  
that is where you and I will meet.»  
«But a dream isn't reality...»  
«Who's to say which is which?»

 

 

_Alice._

_Alice._

_Alice?_

He slowly opens his eyes and blinks. Once, twice... it's so, so bright and, for a moment, the brightness confuses him.

_Where am I?_

He blinks once more, taking in the clouds – funny, funny whitey stuff, clouds – and the rays gently stroking him. His nostrils fill with the scent of blossoming flowers, of slowly growing grass, of the late afternoon sun.

_Oh, right._

Sitting up, he finally remembers scraps and bits: he remembers falling asleep during a trying quarrel with himself about... about... well, surely it was about an absolutely important matter. Maybe it had been about Mally decision not to wear green for the great ball, or maybe about the thickness of that new thread that had been delivered to him that morning – it really felt too thin in his callous hands, although he'd been fascinated by its glittery colourfulness, and he still had to decide whether the hats would... oh, he was going off road once again! Focus, Tarrant! You're doing something important here!

_Tarrant._

_Tarrant._

Oh, right. Tarrant. He is him, that he remembers! And he's still laying on the fresh, tickling grass, and...

_Tarrant._

Was he still awake, debating over what-he-really-cannot-tell, when he’d heard her? Were his emerald eyes open, alert, when he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair and plump lips and soft – oh, so soft – small hands?

_Focus. Focus. Focus._

He feels something fluttering inside him as he mind-absently acknowledges that he is being particularly focused and almost coherent – something that he hasn’t been in years, something that had last happened when he was just a toddler. Even then, a rare occurrence, to be sure: e had been wondering in the woods and had discovered colourful lights dancing around, and had decided he had to discover the source of them, following… oh, wait.

_Tarrant._

_Yes, yes, slippery focus._

Her hands coming down his laying figure, lightly caressing his pale cheeks.

_How?_

_Alice._

_How are you here? If it’s you, and if this is here, of course._

She had laughed.

_Does it matter?_

 

_Not really, my Alice. Sweet, sweet Alice._

_Not even a little bit._

And indeed it does not, for he has always known madness had claimed him a long time ago – still, he would’ve loved for her to be real, to be back.

_Back to me, my very much Alice._

_With all your muchiness and your aliceness._

_But why is it dark, now?_

Her laughter had filled the air.

_Your eyes, Tarrant.. You’ve closed them._

Right, right. His eyes.

It was just too… too much, even for a mad hatter like him.

His Alice, his wonderful, full of muchiness Alice. There, slowly stroking the skin on his face, sending shivers through his spine, down, down to his toes – which he curled, excited.

_Alice._

_My Alice._

_I’ve missed you so much…_

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because now he remembers a bittersweet hint in her laughter. Sadness? Nostalgia? Did she miss him as he missed her?

_I know, Tarrant._

_I know. And I’m so sorry…_

Green and yellowish eyes had searched for her face.

_Don’t… don’t be._

_You’re here, now._

_Happy, happy me._

They had smiled at each other – long, tender smiles that had made her eyes become watery, which in turn had made him very, very confused and almost guilty for being happy.

_Alice. Alice. Alice._

_No no, no sadness. Don’t cry, my Alice._

_You make me so happy…_

She had kissed him, then. Tenderly, softly, lightly as a butterfly, and she was flushed when she’d lifted her head again. It had lasted merely a second, or maybe it had been an entire lifetime, who could tell. Still, it wouldn’t have been enough for him – nor, he hoped, for her.

_I’m not sad, Tarrant._

_Not for being here, not at all._

_Seeing you makes me so happy, but I’ve missed you as well…_

How they both ended up on the meadow, nestled together, he still doesn’t know. But they had, and her warmth made his heart singing. Oh, dreams could be such sweet traitors sometimes.

_I wish you could stay…_

Cuddling his Alice was such a delightful torture that he would have gladly spent the rest of his life doing it. There is no hat, no silk ribbon, no tea party in the entire Underworld that could make him forget her. Not that he wishes to do so, not at all. On the contrary, he does all that it’s in his power to think about her at least a few hours a day – but it’s always more, memories of her adorning his days and inspiring his work and ruling his dreams.

Even then, in her arms, some of the latter come to his mind, and it was his turn to blush. He had hoped his paleness would prevent her from noticing, but of course she had noticed. And of course she had to ask why

_why_

_why_

_why?_

And of course he couldn’t tell her about his dreams – his other dreams, not this one, which was sweet and tender and smelled like calm. Those other dreams were sweaty and intimate and really, how could he tell her that?

But maybe she knew similar dreams of her own, because she’d seem to simply _know_ and had leaned down for another kiss, her cheeks of a nice, warm pink. This time, she’d lingered more than a second. Not much, but enough for his bandage-covered hands to feel brave enough to venture on her hips.

_I wish I knew how to stay._

_Tarrant._

_Tarrant._

_Tarrant._

She had begun to fade into the lazy orange sky of that strange and marvellous ageing afternoon.

_No._

_No._

_No._

_No._

_No._

He still isn’t sure who had said all those _no_. Was it him, or was it Alice? Or was it them both? And really, who cared? She had been there, in his mad hands and on his mad lips and… and…

                                         And then she was gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, I'm not a native speaker, so please if there's a mistake just tell me and I'll fix it :) Of course, critiques and comments are always welcome!


End file.
